


Christmas Wedding

by a_windsor



Series: Exile [9]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 23:06:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13223133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_windsor/pseuds/a_windsor
Summary: The Lance-alGhuls attend Laurel and Cisco's Christmas Eve wedding.





	Christmas Wedding

December 18th

 

The thought crosses her mind quickly, fleetingly, and immediately she feels guilty for it:

_God, I hate flying commercial._

It’s an obnoxious thought.  But in her defense, first class or not, flying with a five-year-old is no easy feat. She still thinks she got the better end of the deal, though: Nyssa has to bring Rocket when she joins them later. As it should be.

It’s a week before Christmas, but the Central City airport is covered in red and green decorations, and so many lights.

Beside her, Damian is dressed appropriately: candy-cane scarf and fluffy red Santa hat. He beams at the TSA agent and shamelessly hands over his _incredibly_ _fake_ U.S. passport. Aunt Felicity makes a seamless forge, though, so Sara isn’t particularly worried.

“Hey, little man,” the agent greets.

“Hello!” Damian returns in kind. “Happy holidays!”

The agent laughs warmly and gives his passport a once over.

“Where are you headed, Mr. Lance?” he asks amiably.

“My aunt’s wedding! On Christmas Eve!” Damian informs him. How on earth he has so much freaking energy after a red eye from Frankfurt after traveling from Nanda Parbat, Sara has no idea.

“Oh, isn’t that nice,” the agent says kindly.

“I’m the ringbearer,” Damian continues.

Sara rolls her eyes and brings her hand down on the place where his backpack meets his neck. They need to have a talk about being _too chatty_ with the customs agents. For now, at least, she hands over her own, actually real, U.S. passport.

“Don’t trip,” the agent teases.

Damian scoffs. Sara laughs and uses her grip on Damian’s shoulder to move him along.

“C’mon, D. Let’s go get our bags and meet the driver.”

Damian talks _the whole way_ to baggage claim, about weddings and Christmas and planes. Sara rubs her forehead, feeling a headache coming on. 

“I get to go to the _whole party_ , right? Like the whole party. No bedtime?”

At this point, Sara is thinking that it is going to be bedtime the minute they get to the hotel.

“Yes, Damian. The whole party,” Sara assures him.

They grab their bags and head for the waiting car. Sara recognizes their League driver immediately and smiles, waiting for Damian to do so as well. He does not, though, as he wrestles his suitcase into the back of the town car and then jumps into the backseat.

After getting settled in the front seat, their driver adjusts her cap and says:

“Where to, Faris?”

“Talibah!” Damian cries, flinging himself through the gap between the front seats and planting a kiss on her cheek. “What are you doing here?”

“Driving you somewhere, once you tell me where,” Talibah retorts warmly, and Sara laughs. She’s missed Talibah. As the League’s primary Central City agent and Sara’s mother’s secret bodyguard, Talibah does not often make it to Nanda Parbat _or_ Paradise Island.

“Um, Habibti?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we going?” Damian asks. “Grandma’s?”

That, of course, had been offered, but Sara is definitely happy that they will have their own space for the wedding festivities.

“The Central City Plaza, please, Talibah.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Talibah says, “As soon as Faris _buckles up_. His grandmother would have my hide if I let something happen to him.”

She meets Sara’s eyes in the rearview mirror with a twinkle.

“Oh!” Damian exclaims, throwing himself backwards and fumbling with the seatbelt.

“Thank you. Next stop, wedding.”

 

***

 

Sara is having trouble getting in both the Christmas and the wedding spirit, but seeing Damian in a giant group hug with both of his beaming aunts does start to thaw her cold heart. He takes turns kissing both Laurel and Sin on the cheek and giggling as they tickle him.

“Hi, everyone. Don’t all fight over saying hello to me,” Sara calls, interrupting her siblings in their dog pile.

Even with her sarcasm, it takes more than a few seconds for the first of them to disentangle.

“Hey, you,” Sin greets with a wide smile and warm hug. “Sorry, you’re just not as cute as D.”

She, no, _they_ , Sara corrects to Sin’s preferred pronouns, look so damn happy. Which probably has something to do with their date to this wedding. It’s been a year of realizations for Sin, of growing into their skin, and Sara loves seeing how adult they are.

“I missed you, too,” Sara complains. “Where are your much better halves? I’m sure Cisco and Thea would both be excited to see me.”

“Grabbing breakfast,” Laurel tells her, giving her a one-armed hug, Damian on her hip. He is too big to be held, really, but he is eating it up with a spoon. “We figured you’d be hungry.”

“Staaaaaaarving,” Damian confirms.

“I see he gets that from you,” Laurel teases, kissing Sara’s cheek.

“Well, they are doing a good job of ingratiating themselves to me. What are they getting?”

“Bagels and coffee from Jitters,” Sin says.

“Of course. What else when you’re in Central City?” Sara asks rhetorically.

“Where’s Grandma?” Damian asks as Laurel sets him down and he clambers onto the couch in their hotel suite.

“Gran’s giving her final,” Sin tells him. “But she and Richard will be by after. And I have a question for you.”

“What’s that?” Damian asks.

“Where’s Khala?”

“Serving the Demon,” Damian shrugs.

Sara feels a headache coming on. She rubs between her eyes.

“D, what did we talk about for this trip?”

“Oh! Khala is _working_ ,” Damian corrects.

“Better.”

“But Aunt Sin knows…”

“I know, buddy, but let’s practice.”

“’K.”

Sin and Damian start talking video games, and Laurel puts a hand on Sara’s shoulder.

“Is everything okay with Nyssa?” she asks softly, kindly. Sara gives her a smile.

“Yeah, yeah. Just some last-minute business. She’ll be here, though. No worrying – you’re the bride.” Sara’s smile turns genuine. “ _The bride_. Are you ready?”

“Of course, I’m ready.”

“There’s a checklist, isn’t there?” Sara teases.

“Of course, there is a checklist,” Laurel grins. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Hey, I brought the ring bearer. I can’t not be here.”

Laurel gives her another hug, and they return their attention to the dorks of the family.

“So, tell me,” Sin requests, fluffing Damian’s red seasonal hat. “When did you graduate from elf to Santa?”

Damian giggles.

“Yesterday.”

 

***

 

December 21st

 

Damian is enjoying his second American Christmas (in a row!) immensely. There are donuts and cookies and candy canes, as many as Habibti will allow, which is not so many as last year. She doesn’t want to clean sprinkles out of the hotel carpet. Every day has ice skating and pictures with Santa, gathered friends and family, and a particularly ruthless bumper ice boats battle with Tio Cisco, Habibti, Aunt Sin, and Aunt Thea.

Grandma’s house is a ten-minute drive away. Grandpa is staying two floors down. The Starling City contingent is slowly joining them at the hotel. Felicity and Oliver, newlyweds of six months themselves, arrived this morning. Baby Sara and Michael Diggle arrive tomorrow (with their parents of course). As much as Damian loves his Aunt Felicity, he is most excited for that arrival.

But Sara is having a harder time getting into the spirit. Nyssa is still not on her way, and the forecast is getting increasingly dim. Freezing rain and then dropping temperatures do not bode well for travel. Nyssa is the only member of the wedding party who hasn’t made it in yet, which is good, but Sara can see the stress about the travel plans of her guests beginning to show on Laurel’s sunny face.

As maid (Sara smacks Laurel every time she says matron) of honor, it is Sara’s job to try to ease that worry. So far, her best ideas for doing so have involved setting Aunt Laurel’s much adored Damian on “distract the bride” duty. A good maid of honor knows when to delegate, and when to use the assets on hand.

Thankfully the groom has been doing a good job of helping, too.

“So, what are we thinking for the big day? Beard or no beard?” Cisco asks, putting on a fake Santa beard.

Laurel and Damian laugh.

“Beard!” Damian says, delightedly.

“Beard, definitely. Very thematic,” Sara plays along.

Laurel lowers the fake beard to reveal a real one growing below.

“ _This_ beard or no beard,” she passes a warm thumb over his chin, “I do not care either way. But if I look down that aisle and you are wearing this Santa beard, I’m turning and walking in the other direction.”

“Do you hear that, D? She’s gonna dump me when I get old,” Cisco says dramatically.

Damian giggles.

“You’re cruel, you Lances.”

“You’re gonna be a Lance, too,” Damian notes.

“And so I am,” Cisco grins dopily at Laurel.

 

***

 

He crawls into her bed around midnight, hair asunder, face soft with lingering sleep. He slips under her arm, head on her shoulder, fingers at her collarbone, finding the canary pendant.

“Habibti,” he whispers in soft, sweet Arabic.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Where’s Khala?”

Sara kisses the top of his head.

“She’s trying to get here. But Jeddy needed her, and now the weather is not so good,” Sara explains, trying to keep her voice light and hopeful, even though she doesn’t feel it.

“But she’s _Khala_. And this is important.”

Sara laughs lightly at the insistence in his voice.

“Yeah, you’re right. If anyone can get here, it’s Khala.”

“She’ll get here,” Damian declares, nodding against her shoulder.

Sara just kisses his soft hair and squeezes him tighter.

Waiting for each other is just a part of their life: commuting to and from Nanda Parbat, taking missions with the Red and Gold, less and less together. They don’t like leaving Damian without one of them, even though Umm Saleem can obviously handle everything just fine on her own. But this waiting, near Christmas and unsure of whether Nyssa will make it in time, it takes her back to Coast City, all exile and loneliness and ceaseless waiting.

But Nyssa isn’t plotting against the Demon now, nor hunting down Sara’s (attempted) murderer. She had important, but simple, business to attend to for the Demon, which Sara, at least intellectually, understands that she could not decline or delay.

Less intellectually, Sara just wants her Nyssa here, now, so that she can smack her and then kiss her.

Instead, she pulls Damian even closer and tries to get some sleep. They have a long day of mani-pedis and seating chart adjustments tomorrow.

 

***

 

December 22nd

 

“I think… green. Is that okay, Aunt Laurel?”

“That’s perfect, D,” Laurel gives her bridal seal of approval.

Damian has won the coveted spot next to the bride, partaking in his very first mani-pedi. The new technicians fuss and coo over him, which of course he adores, extra-hammy because his grandma is on his other side.

“Hey Damian, can I match you?” Sin asks from Laurel’s side. “Since we’re wearing matching tuxes?”

“Sure!” Damian says happily.

“I love it,” Laurel agrees.

“He’s gonna like this so much we’re gonna have to bring some nail polish home,” Sara complains to Felicity beside her.

“Is black the traditional League nail color?” Felicity asks with a grin.

“I don’t spend a lot of time looking at the boss’s fingernails,” Sara teases back.

At the manicure stations, Thea, Iris, Caitlin, and Camila, Cisco’s mom, round out their group. They have taken over the whole salon.

“How’s married life?” Sara asks. She has not seen Felicity much since she had literally flown in, solo, on the day of Oliver and Felicity’s small ceremony and reception, before catching a cargo plane back to the Himalayas. Ah, cargo planes were so much more pleasant than commercial… “And working with your spouse, day _and_ night jobs?”

“Well, you know all about that,” Felicity waves her away.

“Yeah, but I’m the one _taking_ the orders,” Sara grins.

Felicity blushes, but rallies.

“Oh, I have a feeling you’re giving them, too,” she twinkles. “Do you think Nyssa will make it for tonight?”

“I dunno,” Sara sighs, grin fading. “The airport’s a mess. So are the roads. She’s trying.”

“She still has fifty-two hours until the wedding,” Felicity notes. “I’m sure she’ll get here. It just stinks if she misses tonight’s surprise. Which, by the way, do you have any inside info on what we’re doing?”

“I can’t tell you, even if I do.”

She doesn’t.

Laurel and Cisco have been tight-lipped about the joint portion of their bachelor/ette parties. There are ninety minutes of group activity left conspicuously blank on the schedule before the wedding parties split into their respective groups for a late dinner. Her spy (Damian) has been unable to squeeze that information out of either of the smitten (with him and with each other) soon-to-be spouses. The only information given was to wear flats, and that Damian could attend.

That hasn’t really narrowed it down.

“I’m surprised they’ve been able to keep it a secret,” Felicity says.

“Felicity,” Sara laughs. “Secrets are their jobs.”

“And uncovering secrets is mine! They must have paid cash for whatever it is.”

“Did you hack your friends?” Sara narrows her eyes.

“Just their credit cards.”

Sara laughs fondly. She certainly has missed this.

 

***

 

“Have you even washed this since you got here?” Sin asks, proud that they manage to steal the Santa hat from their ninja nephew. They take a brave, exploratory sniff, surprised that it smells fresh.

“Habibti washes it every night and dries it on the heater,” Damian informs them, snatching the hat back and pulling it over his ears.

Sin smiles at him and brushes his soft bangs from his eyes.

“Well, that’s adorable,” they say. Domestic Sara is definitely a cute image. It reminds Sin of their time living together, especially in the clocktower, when Nyssa wasn’t around to mother everyone.

“Tell me, tiny spy,” Sin starts.

“Assassin,” Damian corrects softly, somehow conscious, even at five, that he shouldn’t say that loudly in the hotel lobby.

Thea laughs. Which also makes Sin smile. Thea at their side, Damian in town, and Laurel’s wedding – this is the best Christmas ever.

“Okay, tiny _assassin_ ,” they whisper, wondering if he even knows what that word means. “Do you have any idea where these vans are taking us?”

Damian shrugs and returns to watching cat videos with Thea on her phone, snuggled up to her side on the Plaza’s cozy couch.

“You and Felicity both,” Thea shakes her head. “Just enjoy the surprise.”

“Hey. Me and Felicity just like to be prepared. It’s a necessity when you’re with a Queen. You’re reckless, both of you.”

Yep, that’s a thing. The Queen family, complete with dinner, every Sunday night: Sin, Thea, Felicity, Oliver. (Wednesdays are Lance family dinners. Sin and Thea have so many family dinners to attend.) The Queen family dinners are decreasing in awkwardness each week, generally tracked by Oliver’s comfort with Sin (and Sin’s new pronouns) and, honestly, Sin’s comfort with their girlfriend’s broody mcbroody brother. Despite traveling in the same circles, Sin’s firm alignment with Team Canary had meant they didn’t (have to) spend a lot of time with the Arrow himself.

Speaking of…

“Hello, Oliver Queen,” Damian greets their new arrivals, “Have you seen this video?”

He asks for Thea’s permission with his eyes, then jumps up with her phone in hand. Sin steals his seat, as Damian (Lance) al Ghul shows Oliver Queen a video of a cat stuck in a box. Felicity joins them on the sofa, looking fondly at the boys.

“Do you think it’s weird that his accent is so American? Are there even any Americans besides Sara in his life? I always thought he would sound like Nyssa, but he sounds _just like Sara_.”

Thea grins, and Sin provides:

“When he was a baby, Sara spoke half-English and half-Arabic to him, and Nyssa spoke half-Arabic and half-Russian. I bet he speaks Russian just like Nyssa?”

“Russian?” Felicity asks. “Why Russian?”

“Nyssa’s mom spoke Russian,” Thea answers, revealing the quiet depth of her bond with Nyssa al Ghul.

“Oh!” Felicity looks like she has more questions, but then she gets distracted by a mental headcount of their group. “Where _is_ Sara?”

“On the phone,” Sin says, not needing to say with whom.

“Any updates?” Felicity asks, while Oliver continues to feign interest in cat videos. Sin isn’t even sure Damian likes cat videos this much – he might just have a penchant for torturing Oliver Queen, much like his Khala.

“Judging by her face,” Sin gestures to the approaching Sara. “Not a good one.”

Sara joins them with a shake of her head.

“She finally got to Atlanta, but she can’t find a pilot willing to land in Central or Starling, commercial, private, or cargo. And League resources are… elsewhere. So she’s gonna see the closest they can get by plane and then get creative, I guess.”

“They?” Thea asks.

“She has Rocket with her,” Sara sighs.

Sin snorts at that image.

“Between the two of them, they’ll be able to scare someone into taking them,” Felicity laughs.

Sara manages a smile at that.

“Okay. Who are we waiting on?”

“Diggle and the STAR Labs contingent,” Thea says. “Most of them just checked in today, since they live nearby. Michael and Sara, Little Sara, opted out of tonight, so Lyla is staying in with them.”

“Where’s _my_ little dude?” Sara asks.

Sin gestures for Sara to look behind her, where Damian is painstakingly explaining _why_ the video in question is funny. Oliver looks utterly cornered.

“D, c’mere,” Sara rescues Oliver.

Damian comes dutifully. Sara says something to him in Arabic. Disappointment flits across his face.

“But you’re sleeping over with Grandma tonight,” Sara continues in English, brightly. “When the adults go to dinner. And I have a feeling Santa might be making an early visit. He does that for grandmas, you know.”

Damian’s grin returns.

“Cool!”

“Alright, let’s go see if we can find those mad scientists and get this show on the road,” Sara takes charge. “We have some bachelor-ing to do.”

 

***

 

“Archery tag?” Felicity exclaims. “ _Archery tag_ is the surprise event?”

She expresses the shock of all involved, groom’s and bride’s sides.

“Seriously?” Barry demands.

“I just want you to know that I warned him in advance that certain people would have an advantage tonight, and Cisco still chose this,” Laurel announces.

Thea grins in wolfish delight.

“Babe,” Sin says, “I’m gonna need you to protect me from our nephew.”

“Admittedly, when I picked it, I thought I would have a ringer on the groom’s side,” Cisco says, giving Sara a sad smile.

            “I’ll cross lines to take her place,” Sara says. “D, too.”

“Hey! You’re mine,” Laurel objects.

“He’s family too, right?” Sara counters.

“This better just be for tonight,” Laurel accuses playfully. “No stealing my matron of honor!”

“Stop calling me that,” Sara complains.

Cisco grins. “Just until _my_ groomslady gets here. Plus, the ringbearer is neutral. He can go either way.”

“Just like his mom,” Thea pipes up.

“Hey, nice bi joke,” Sin praises, offering a high five. Sara gives an approving thumbs up.

“Okay, a few more rules,” Laurel tells the group.

“Of course, Laurel has rules,” Oliver teases warmly.

Laurel gives him a playful glare.

“First – none in the face. You all must look beautiful in our pictures,” Laurel starts, resting a hand on Damian’s shoulder.

“Or at least try to,” Barry says, elbowing Oliver.

“Second, do not hurt my darling nephew,” Laurel says, squeezing Damian’s shoulder.

“Ehh,” Sara brushes off the concern. “He can hold his own.”

“You’re like the coolest mom ever,” Diggle teases.

“I mean, if you do hurt him, he does have League bodyguards you’ll never see coming,” Sara shrugs.

“Not cool, Lance,” Barry says.

“We’re on the same team.”

“Oh yeah. That’s fine.”

“Finally, no, um, extra abilities,” Cisco says diplomatically, looking mostly at Barry and Caitlin. “That goes for me, too.”

“But Oliver, Thea, and Sara can use their archery skills,” Barry complains jokingly.

“And me!” Damian pipes up.

“And the prince!” Barry teases.

“Yes,” Cisco says. “Because those are the rules.”

“Are you chicken, Barry?” Oliver asks.

“Alright!” Laurel intervenes. “Save the trash talk for the battlefield. Let’s get suited up.”

 

***

 

It’s a tough battle, and that’s just convincing the technician that the five-year-old is _certainly_ capable of playing with them all. Sara has to sign about twelve releases, but they finally outfit him with a bow. Damian turns up his nose a little at the quality, and Sara rolls her eyes.

“C’mon, princeling,” she cajoles, leading him into the large arena, full of various strange objects to use as cover, appropriately red, green, and tinsel-y.

They’re using modified dodgeball rules: get hit, you sit until the next round. Admittedly Laurel’s team has a bit of advantage. It isn’t bo-tag, and Damian _is_ five, and Thea is a great archer, trained by Nyssa herself. Ollie isn’t too bad either.

They give ‘em hell anyway.

Sara’s absolute favorite part is when Damian, having scaled one of the cover structures, nailed Ollie right between the shoulder blades. Nyssa would be so proud.

Team Canary does end up winning by a couple rounds, but Team Vibe counts that as a win anyway. Cisco and Barry lift Damian, Santa cap and all, onto their shoulders and carry him around the arena.

“A dork,” Laurel sighs dreamily. “I’m marrying a complete dork.”

Sara takes that as adoringly as she means it.

“Yeah, he’s definitely a keeper.”

“You two are the cutest,” Iris echoes.

“Habibti!” Damian interrupts, as the “victory” parade makes its way back to them. He’s just on Barry’s shoulders now, grinning widely. “Habibti, before I go to Grandma’s, can I go for a ride?”

“A ride on what?” Sara asks idly.

“On Barry!” Damian duhs.

Barry Allen grins sheepishly.

Sara sighs.

“I will go at a safe speed at all times,” Barry promises. “I heard all about those bodyguards.”

“Are you going to let _them_ go on rides?” Sara asks Iris, gesturing to her sizable baby bump and referencing the impending West-Allen twins. It’s a particularly cute bump, since it is currently covered in an ugly Christmas sweater asking, “Is there a speed limit on reindeer?”

“When they’re that size?” Iris clarifies. Sara nods. “Yeah. Chance of puke, though.”

Sara laughs: “Your next five years are all ‘chance of puke’. Times two. Yes, if Barry is offering. Be back in five minutes.”

“Five minutes?!”

“Don’t worry, little guy,” Barry grins, “Five minutes is _plenty_ of time.”

 

***

 

December 23rd

 

Quentin knocks gently on the door as best he can, knowing it is early.

Dinah quickly answers it.

“Good morning,” he greets. “Merry Christmas. Where’s Trouble?” He gestures with his armful of presents.

“Merry Christmas. He must be exhausted,” Dinah says softly, ushering him inside. “He’s still asleep! Come, have some coffee, before the chaos.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” Quentin says again, matching her volume.

“Of course, of course. When are we ever going to have this kind of opportunity again? All alone with our grandson.”

“All alone with our grandson and his three strategically placed bodyguards,” Quentin teases, gratefully accepting both the coffee and a chuckle from Richard in the kitchen.

“Four,” Dinah laughs. “Talibah is on an air mattress in my office.”

“But she’s _your_ bodyguard,” Richard points out.

“I’m sure if it came down to it, she would save _Faris_ ,” Dinah says knowingly.

Quentin shifts uncomfortably at Damian’s League name. He’s nowhere near as comfortable with Damian’s League of Assassins life as Dinah is. He prefers not to think of it at all.

Richard seems to sense the discomfort and offers to toast up a bagel for Quentin. Dinah’s husband is Jewish, but he’s being a good sport about turning their home into a Christmas wonderland for little Damian.

He likes Richard.

Bonding that began over Damian has been solidified by wedding planning. The awkwardness has all but evaporated, although Quentin will admit that being in the home Richard and Dinah share does bring up a little bit more than usual. For Damian, though, he’ll push through it.

“Hello??” comes a familiar voice from upstairs.

“Guess that bagel’s going to have to wait,” Quentin grins, bracing for impact.

The rest of the morning is a blur of plaid pajamas and torn wrapping paper. Damian is ecstatic that Grandpa joined them as well, and he flits from adult to adult showing off every little gift with wonder. Quentin knows the boy wants for nothing, heir as he is to a criminal empire, but he still loves being able to get him stuff. He is especially proud of the baseball mitt signed by their mutual favorite Starling City Rocket, a rough and tumble second baseman.

The morning ends with the five of them (Talibah included) sharing sticky buns and oranges, and Quentin is pretty sure it is going to need to be one damn fine wedding to be a better Christmas than this one.

 

***

 

They wait as long as they can, but Sara’s last word from Nyssa was the night before, and they have to start their rehearsal if they want the rehearsal dinner to happen at anything close to on time. The prospect of the wedding, and Christmas, without Nyssa, gets more real every hour.

“Okay, so we’re going to have everyone process in,” the wedding coordinator is saying. “Groom and mother first. Don’t worry, we’ll have the bride well hidden at this point. In fact, Bride, if I could have you and your parents head back into the hall to wait for my cue. Where’s my little ringbearer?”

“Here,” Damian pops out of the chair Sara assigned him: his grandparents way oversugared him this morning, and he needed to chill.

“Great!” the far too enthusiastic older woman exclaims. “Go with your aunt, you’ll be the last before they go.”

Damian sprints after Laurel and his grandparents. Cisco and Camila take their place at the beginning of the aisle.

“Okay, we’re going to fill inside out, so my maid of honor and best man, where are you?”

Everyone can hear a muffled “matron!” from out in the hallway, and Sara rolls her eyes as she and Barry fall into line.

“Who’s next?” the coordinator asks.

Sara pulls the program out of her bag, as instructed by her big sister.

“Dante and Sin next,” she announces. “Then Thea and Caitlin.”

The four take their marks. The wedding coordinator looks at lonely Felicity at the end of the line and says:

“Where’s my final groomsperson?” she asks, hands on her hips.

“Travel difficulties,” Sara starts, “She should be-“

The doors to the ballroom fling open.

“Right there!” Felicity grins, even as Damian exclaims from the hall: “Khala!”

And indeed, right on cue, there in the doorway is a snow-covered Nyssa al Ghul, Rocket in one arm, Damian hanging from the other.

“Oh my god, babe. Always with the dramatic entrance.”

“Pot, kettle, little sister,” Laurel asks as their orderly line breaks down into a crowd around the surprise arrival. Nyssa greets Sara’s sister fondly, as much as she can with her load.

“See! I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” Cisco beams, hugging Nyssa around her armfuls of dog and kid.

“No, I swore to stand up at your side, and I honor my promises.”

“Not to interrupt this warm bro moment,” Sara says, finally making it to the inside of the throng. “But hi.”

“Hello, habibti,” Nyssa smiles at her.

And Sara is mad, and she is annoyed, but she is also really, really happy to see her.

“Hey you.”

Sara takes the excitedly barking Sarookh from Nyssa’s grasp, getting a face full of doggy tongue.

“How much sugar has he ingested?” Nyssa asks, lifting her arm and Damian along with it.

“Hiiiii, Khala.”

“So much,” Sara laughs. “That’s what happens when you aren’t here to supervise us. Speaking of.” She pauses and punches Nyssa’s shoulder. “Why the hell did you stop taking my calls?”

“My phone fell off a train.”

“Why were you on a train?!”

“You cannot imagine the number of modes of transportation I had to take to get here. But let’s not let my arrival derail this any further.”

“A train pun!” Sin says excitedly, and Sara laughs, a weight lifted from her chest.

Nyssa gives them both a stern look. Sara loves it.

“We do indeed have a rehearsal to get back to,” Nyssa insists. “I believe I am to stand here with Felicity, at the _end_ of the line.”

Duly chastened (Nyssa is so good at chastening), the bridal party retakes their marks. Nyssa nods to the wedding coordinator, a silent order to resume.

They do the entire rehearsal with Rocket playing the role of bouquet.

 

***

 

After a delicious rehearsal dinner, Damian crashes off his sugar high and tantrums himself to sleep over something Sara honestly can’t even remember. She usually tries to take his feelings seriously, but this was so obviously more sugar related than anything else. Nyssa tucks him into the sleeper sofa in their suite and Sarookh happily hops in with him, relieved to be back with her boy.

Finally, Nyssa and Sara are alone.

Sara crosses her arms over her chest. Nyssa cautiously wraps her arms around her.

“I’m mad at you,” Sara informs her.

“I am aware.”

“If you had just come with us…”

“You know I couldn’t.”

“I’m mad about that, too,” Sara notes.

“That you must take up with the Demon, Iradat al Ghul.”

Sara feels her cheeks warm. Nyssa rarely uses her League honorific, but Sara secretly loves it. She returns the favor.

“I suppose I will have to, Nyssa Lance.”

“I cannot believe your sister put that in the program,” Nyssa faux-complains.

“It’s on your passport!” Sara teases.

“And I did not get a choice in that. Who’s to say I wanted to take your last name?”

Sara gasps: “You don’t _want_ to be a Lance?”

Nyssa sighs. “Now you know the truth.”

Sara laughs. She can’t help it. She adores silly, overdramatic Nyssa. She and Damian are the only ones who ever get to see it.

“Am I forgiven?” Nyssa asks.

“I don’t know…”

“How about now?” Nyssa removes one arm, reaches into her pocket, and produces a crumpled sprig of mistletoe.

Sara sighs softly.

“I hate when you’re charming.”

“I’m always charming,” Nyssa counters. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yes, finally,” Sara says, uncrossing her arms and slipping them around Nyssa’s waist. “Now it’s a merry Christmas.”

Nyssa smiles at her.

“I do apologize for the delay.”

“Mhmm. Get that mistletoe up there,” Sara says, looking up.

Nyssa dutifully raises it over their heads.

Sara kisses her for her trouble.

 

***

 

December 24th

 

The bride and groom are getting ready in separate suites in the hotel, kept apart. At breakfast, Damian announced that, although he was neutral, he would be getting dressed in the groom’s room. He claimed it was due to the higher percentage of tuxes (at least three, to the bride’s room’s one), but Sara suspects it is because _Khala_ is in the groom’s room. Sara kind of feels the same way.

Come to think of it, Sara doesn’t know if Nyssa is wearing a tux or a dress. She is suddenly very interested in the idea that it might in fact be a tux…

At around 10:30, Sara is summoned to the groom’s room in her ‘maid of honor’ sweats. Laurel allows it, as long as the visit is relatively brief.

“He promised he wasn’t stealing you.”

Sara, in turn, promises to be back shortly.

In the groom’s room, she finds quite the rowdy crowd:

Cisco and Damian are snuggled up over much of the couch, Caitlin claiming the end of it, Iris occupying the arm chair, Barry at her feet, and Nyssa and Dante on the floor, leaning against the sofa.

They are all looking at the tv and passing popcorn. On the screen, Kermit sings about “one more sleep ‘til Christmas”.

“The Muppet Christmas Carol,” Sara declares, hands on her hips.

“Well, I know you are all spending the morning primping, but we, of course, are naturally beautiful,” Cisco starts. Caitlin rolls her eyes affectionately. “And since this evening there will, sadly, not be time for it, Damian and I decided that we should watch the traditional Christmas Carol adaptation. It’s not really Christmas until the Ghost of Christmas Past creeps the hell out of me.”

“Cisco, c’mon. Language in front of the kid,” Barry complains.

“It’s okay, Barry,” Cisco defends, then says in unison with Damian and Nyssa: “It’s a Habibti word.”

“If you wish to shield your children from foul language,” Nyssa instructs the West-Allens, “Do not let Sara near them.”

Sara opens her mouth to object, but then shrugs, conceding.

“Shove over,” she says instead, claiming half of Nyssa’s space on the floor. She reaches over her shoulder and squeezes Damian’s stocking foot. “Your tux hanging up somewhere?”

Damian nods, and Nyssa says: “I have it all in hand.”

Right. She’s not flying solo anymore: the actual responsible parent is here to take care of things.

“Alright then. I’ll watch some. Give me some popcorn, even though we already missed my favorite part.”

“’I’m Rizzo the Rat, and I’m here for the food’,” Damian parrots.

Sara grins at him over a handful of popcorn.

 

***

 

It’s a gorgeous ceremony. As evidenced by Nyssa’s snowy arrival the day before, the freezing rain has given way to a soft, fluffy snow, rare for Central City. Caitlin swears she had nothing to do with it.

The ballroom is configured such that the wedding takes place against a large window overlooking what is now a picturesque winter wonderland of a courtyard. Laurel is an absolutely beautiful snow bride, and Damian does not, in fact, trip. Cisco is one of the most smitten grooms Sara has ever seen, as he should be.

As for Sara’s own little Christmas gift, Nyssa is in fact wearing a tailored tux in the vein of the groomsmen. Sara is quite appreciative of whoever’s idea that was. Either Cisco or Damian… She loves those boys.

After dinner, in a quick lull before dancing, Sara pulls a chair up next to Nyssa, sliding a hand into hers. It’s a little PDA-y, but Nyssa allows it.

“You know how I always say I never _needed_ a wedding?”

“Yes?”

“Well, now? I’m _glad_ we never had one. This is way too much work.”

“The newlyweds do seem to be enjoying themselves,” Nyssa notes.

“And I’m happy for them, but I prefer the League’s way.”

“And what is the League’s way?” Nyssa asks, amusement in her voice.

“’Hey you. You’re mine.’”

Nyssa’s warm laugh fills Sara with joy. She kisses her cheek while she is still laughing.

“Your sister has in fact pulled off quite an event here.”

“Hey, I helped.” She rests a momentarily exhausted head against Nyssa’s shoulder.

“Of course. And handled Damian all on your own, giving him his _second_ wonderful American Christmas. You’ve done incredibly well, habibti.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Sara says.

“… There are matching pajamas in the hotel room, aren’t there?”

“You bet your ass there are.”

 

***

 

December 25th

 

Penguins, in fact, this year. As in, footy-pajamas making the four of them look like penguins.

Nyssa gamely wears them: she does owe her.

They have a quiet morning with just the four of them in the suite and the handful of rather practical gifts they have gotten each other.

Then Sin and Thea and Sara’s parents arrive for a room service brunch. The newlyweds are given the space to have their own wake up and brunch. They exchange presents between them. Sin and Thea get the same penguin pjs. Sin insists on changing immediately, and Thea is a good sport about it, changing as well.

They meet up with everyone else who is around for Christmas dinner at the hotel restaurant with the glowing newlyweds. Not the most traditional of dinners, but a welcome reprieve from a week of hosting and organizing.

Sara does allow everyone to change out of their penguin pjs for the occasion.

When they’re alone again, Nyssa beckons the two of them over while Rocket gorges herself on a Christmas bone.

“Damian,” Nyssa says, “I do have one more present for you.” She retrieves a small box from her bag. “Since you have been so good this week, helping Taer al-Asfer and Aunt Laurel, I believe you are now responsible enough for this.”

She pulls the top off the box. Damian gapes, wide-eyed. Sara is also happily surprised.

“Welcome to the real Team Canary, kid,” Sara grins at him, her hand finding her own necklace against her breastbone.

He is reverent as Nyssa pulls the gold canary pendant, identical to Sara’s, Nyssa’s, and Sarookh’s, from its box and fastens it around his neck. His little fingers gently touch it.

“You must be very careful with it,” Nyssa says.

He nods insistently.

“ _Thank you_ , Khala.”

“You are welcome. Merry Christmas.”

Damian happily kisses her cheek.

“Can I go play with my monster truck?”

Nyssa chuckles, “You may,” and Damian runs off to his absurdly large hoard of presents.

“Late and bearing jewelry,” Sara shakes her head fondly, remembering.

“I was on time for Christmas,” Nyssa counters. “Both times.”

“Mmhmm. Where’s _my_ jewelry?” Sara asks, snuggling up to her.

“Next time we are in Monte Carlo, you may have whatever you like,” Nyssa promises.

Sara sighs.

“I already have the best jewelry anyway.”

Nyssa smiles. “Very well. Next time we are Cairo, you may have your pick of anything in Nasir’s shop.”

Sara’s eyes light up and she snuggles into Nyssa’s side on the couch.

“I _do_ need new throwing knives.”

“You have so many throwing knives, habibti,” Nyssa laughs.

“Can never have too many. You taught me that.”

“Fair enough,” Nyssa says, warmly kissing Sara’s hair. “Merry Christmas.”

Sara twists and kisses under her jaw, giving in to the exhaustion of the week in Nyssa’s soft embrace.

“Merry Christmas.”

 

***

 

fin


End file.
